Operation Social Suicide

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, picking what looked like a miniature forest of **spinach** from between my front teeth. Great. Just great. First day of sophomore year and I was already about to commit social suicide before first period even started.

"You ready, Mia?" My mom yelled from downstairs.

"Yeah!" I called back, grabbing my backpack. Outside, Buster—our ancient, farting golden retriever—was losing his mind at something in the bushes. Probably the Hendersons' **cat** again. That cat had personal beef with Buster, lived its best life taunting him from our front porch like it was paid to do it.

I grabbed my bike, headphones in, world drowned out by myplaylist until I skidded into the school parking lot and saw HER.

Chelsea. The girl I'd been lowkey **spy**ing on via Instagram Stories for three months. The one whose牙刷 I'd memorized the color of because I was that deep in my feelings. She was standing with her friends, laughing at something, and I felt that familiar chest-tightening thing that happened whenever she was within a fifty-foot radius.

"Mia! Wait up!"

It was Jordan, running over with their usual chaotic energy. "Dude, did you see Mr. Evans' hair today? It's defying gravity. Also, what's with your **dog**?"

"What?" I blinked. "He's at home. Why?"

"Someone posted a video in the group chat—it's ALL OVER the school." Jordan's eyes were wide. "Buster got out, chased the Hendersons' cat up a tree, and then got STUCK. Like, actually stuck. Animal control had to come get him down."

I froze.

"And the best part?" Jordan was trying not to laugh. "When they finally got him down, he ran straight through someone's open front door and ate their entire grocery delivery. Like, DESTROYED it. There's a photo of him sitting amidst a pile of shredded lettuce and yogurt cups, looking guilty as hell."

I wanted to die. Right there. Just dissolve into the pavement and never be seen again.

But then Chelsea walked over, still laughing from her conversation with her friends, and stopped in front of me.

"Hey," she said, and my brain short-circuited. "Is that your dog? The one in the video?"

"Y-yeah," I managed. "That's Buster. He's... he's a lot."

Chelsea's smile was genuine. "That's honestly the best thing I've seen all week. My **cat** would NEVER." She pulled out her phone. "Can I show you something?"

She showed me a video of HER cat knocking over an entire Christmas tree in slow motion.

"We should start a support group," she said. "Pets who are literally chaos incarnate."

"Yeah," I said, feeling something like hope spark in my chest. "Yeah, we should."

Maybe sophomore year wouldn't be so bad after all. Even if I did still have spinach in my teeth.